Early Mornings
by thejigsawtimess
Summary: Dean and Castiel's first kiss. (Set after Season 8 finale).


Nowadays, early mornings suck. In the bunker, buried underground in the backstreets of nowhere, it's easy to forget about the horrors of the world outside. It's far easier, in fact, for the Winchesters and their companions to shut themselves off completely, peacefully cohabiting in a place of their own for once in their lives. After all, the bunker is big enough that you could go days without being bored, never needing to set foot out of the door – the library alone is a gigantic, sprawling, multi-roomed beast, with every book on the mythological that Sam or Dean ever needed desperately, conveniently laid out and organised with the Dewey Decimal system, much to Sam's delight.

And while Sam and Kevin nerd away the hours in there, Dean spends much of his time laughing at a confused, grumpy Cas as he coaches him through the basics of humanity, and pawing through all the relics (there's a hell of a lot of them) that the oh-so-glorious Men of Letters left behind.

Of course, they are still hunters, with a mountain of responsibilities piled ten feet high on their shoulders, and though it's easy to forget that, a shrill wake-up call from a panicking Garth at 5am is enough of a reminder. Demons, and a hell of a lot from the sound of things, apparently pissed off and confused about the amount of former-angels that crash landed a couple of months ago, and are compensating by throwing a murderous bitch fit.

Garth called from a hideout he's secured in the town the demons are terrorising, and he's with a couple of other hunters so he's safe, he's just calling for backup from everyone he can find. Dean tells him they'll be down as soon as they can get Cas out of bed. He's a grumpy little fucker in the mornings, and that's no exaggeration.

The memory foam clings to Dean as he attempts to surface, begging him to stay, and he almost falls back into its embrace, he truly does, but knows he can't. Damn demons.

He stretches as soon as he's vertical, joints popping and creaking in complaint at the sudden disturbance from their slumber, and he wipes some sleep dust from his eyes, swaying slightly on his feet. Rising early sure isn't as easy as it once was, he thinks begrudgingly, cursing his ever-aging body.

He crosses to the door of his room and pulls it open, turning right first to pound on Sam's door, right at the end of the hall. There's a groan from inside, long and irritable; Dean can't help but smile.

"Sammy! Get your ass up, we got a call."

"Go'way."

Dean chuckles tiredly, knocking again on the dark wood. "C'mon Sam, I know it's been a while but it's Garth, demons, and a whole lotta gankin' to do. Let's roll."

He turns away then, not waiting for a response, because he knows his little brother, and his conscience will weigh out his sleepiness.

He strolls down in the other direction then, taking a deep breath as he prepares himself for this next part; waking Cas. Since he became human, Cas has grown fond of three things: the computer (the internet in particular absolutely fascinates him, and he spends hours googling everything he can think of, treating it like a magic mirror, asking it in precise, clipped questions 'why is it that Dean's eyes are green yet Sam's are more of a blue?' and 'how do I tie a shoelace?'); Dean's cooking (Dean has to admit, he's a little proud of the fact Cas scarfs down whatever he puts in front of him, moaning and praising Dean like it's the best thing he's ever tasted); and sleeping. This last one is something the former angel takes extremely seriously.

To Castiel, sleeping is a marathon event, something that has a dedicated time and place, and should go on for at least eight hours, uninterrupted. Dean suspects he's so funny about it because for the first week or so after he fell (dark times, but with their humorous moments) Cas fell asleep randomly, without warning and for varying lengths of time. He could be standing up, helping Dean in the kitchen, sitting at the table – it truly seemed not to matter. It was probably a way of his body evening out the whole not-sleeping-for-millions-of-years thing.

It meant Dean got to take some pretty hilarious snapshots of him asleep in his plate of spaghetti, or sprawled out on one of the many bleeping control panels (Dean still has little to no idea of what they do or monitor), or even on Dean's shoulder, which turned out to be a favoured spot of his, much to Dean's embarrassment – especially when Sammy saw.

He doesn't mind so much anymore, he's kind of gotten used to having Cas snoozing there.

"Cas?" Dean calls hesitantly from the other side of Cas's closed door.

There's no reply, indicating the ex-angel is probably deep within his dream, or just ignoring Dean altogether. It's really a very good thing that it's Dean doing the waking, because although Cas won't let him off easy, he's more likely to actually get up if it's Dean that begs him.

Dean's not sure why exactly. There's something going on with him and Cas, though he'd rather die than admit that out loud. It started off being the same thing that's always been there, the intense devotion to each other without reasonable grounds, the lingering glances, the feeling ofneed for the other's presence.

Dean has learnt, over the years, to cope with those things when he's around Cas. Those things and his friend are like a package deal. But with Cas living here permanently, wandering around at all points of the day in Dean's old Motorhead t-shirt or even just a towel, it's intensified those things tenfold.

He knows Cas must be feeling it too, because their faces are practically mirrors of each other whenever they accidentally brush hands, lean too close over the stove as Dean teaches Cas how to make soup for a marginally still-sick Sam, or catch sight of each other in a state os semi-undress. He catches Cas staring at him just as often as Cas catches him doing the same, and he knows he's not the only one who peeks in on the other sleeping, just to check he's okay, that he's here, that he's safe.

Plus there was the time with the cursed valentine's card they found in the store room… but they don't talk about that. Though they probably should. Scratch that, they definitely should.

"Cas, you decent?" Dean calls again, knocking softly on the wood.

There's a sound from inside, like covers twisting, and Dean smirks a little. Hiding under the covers Cas? What are you, four?

"Cas, I'm coming in."

Dean pushes open the door without a moment's hesitation, and he's immediately confronted with darkness, the kind which only true sleep-enthusiasts would find appealing. Dean flicks on the light, feeling cruel.

An almighty groan of anguish erupts from the pile of covers in the centre of the double bed across from Dean, and the light washes the room in colour again, splashing the walls and bare, wooden furniture in an early morning glow, much to Castiel's dismay. Cas obviously didn't have any possessions to decorate his room with when he turned up at the Winchester's door, but he makes do, hanging his trenchcoat in one corner even though he never wears it anymore, and there are a few framed photographs of himself with Dean, Sam and even Bobby on various surfaces at Dean's insistence, because Cas needs this to feel like home. One of the photographs, one of just the Winchester's, laughing together, side by side, is one that neither he nor Sam gave to Cas, but he tactfully doesn't ask Cas about it.

"Cas, c'mon get up buddy, we got a call."

The covers shift and wriggle with a lot more groaning, and Dean watches amused as the top of Cas's face emerges from amidst the quilts. "Dean. Get out."

Dean grins at him, trying hard to be as infuriating as possible, though it's hard given that Cas looks adorable right now, his black hair poking through the covers at all angles, his eyes blinking sleepily even as he fixes Dean with a death glare.

"Uh uh, no can do sunshine. Garth called, we got demons to gank."

"No."

"Yes. And my first mission: awaken the kraken."

Cas growls, shrinking away from him, back into the soft cocoon of his quilt fort, and Dean sighs.

"Castiel, I'm warning you-"

Dean is cut off mid-threat by a pillow hurtling through the air at an unfathomably fast speed, and hitting him directly in the face. He closes his eyes as the pillow drops to the ground, his lips pursing.

He meets Cas's eyes through the litany of covers, matching the glare. "Okay, this means war."

He lunges forwards, seizing hold of the duvet Cas is wrapped in with two fists and pulling, hard. It starts to slip away from Cas, but he catches hold, gripping tightly as he grapples with Dean, the two of them locked in a mad, ridiculous tug of war.

"Dean, I'm not leaving this bed!" Cas cries, his voice croaky and sleep-coated.

Dean just tugs harder on the blanket, changing positions to stand at the foot of the bed, pulling with all his might. "Cas you have to! We've gotta help Garth- demons, Cas!"

He lets the blanket fall from his grip at last, panting. Cas can sure be a determined little fucker at the worst of times.

Cas smiles smugly, his whole face on show now after their intense quilt-war, along with most of his neck and shoulders. Dean can't help but notice he's sleeping shirtless again, and he tries not to let his gaze linger too long on all that exposed, sun-kissed skin.

"Take Sam. I'll catch up to you."

Cas rolls over, away from Dean, batting his hand as though shooing him.

"Oh really? How are you gonna catch up, Cas? No car, no driving ability, no bus for friggin miles. Just get your lazy ass outta bed, man."

Cas sighs softly, a sweet sound, and Dean can't help but smile a little. "Go without me then, I'm not much use anyway. I'll stay, I'll- I'll watch Kevin."

His eyes are closed and his mouth is parted slightly, the words tumbling from his lips as though he's seconds away from sleep again. He's very sweet when he's sleeping; it's undeniable. Dean allows himself a couple of drawn out moments to stare before replying.

"Kevin's a grown ass man. He can look after himself, and c'mon Cas that's just bullshit. We need you."

Cas frowns, his eyebrows knitting, and he rolls over onto his back, staring down at Dean, still at the foot of the bed. His eyelids are heavy, slightly narrowed as he observes Dean, standing with his hands on his hips.

"Don't try that again." Cas grumbles, and there's a slight smirk playing on his lips. Dean revels in it.

"Oh right, that only works when you're beating me to a bloody pulp, right?" Dean replies, eyebrows raised, his own smirk now mirroring Cas's. They shouldn't be joking about this, it's wrong, but hey, Cas started it and if he wants to deal with his shit through humour defence mechanisms, then hell, Dean is the expert there.

Cas mumbles something crossly, unintelligible and undoubtedly filled with venom. "Don't guilt trip me, Winchester," he says a little louder, turning his face against the pillow and shutting his eyes again, "I pulled you out of hell."

Dean barks a laugh, which in turn makes Cas quirk a smile. He opens his mouth to let out a retort, because there are many, many things they could fire at each other if they want an argument over who owes who more, but there's no time, and it's also a terrible idea if they want to remain friends or… anything.

"Okay, let's not get into this." Dean replies, intending to calm things down. He wonders what the next move is even so, because he's barely any further towards perusading Cas to get up, and that thick, sticky tension is starting to build in the room every time his and Cas's eyes meet over the length of his semi-clothed body.

Like he's heard that train of thought, Cas turns his head and stares at Dean again, his eyes raking over every inch of him, scrutinising in that way that Cas is famous for. Dean casts a glance down at his own bed-outfit (boxers and a too-small tee) blushing a little because they're both so barely dressed. This can't be a good thing considering all the stuff that's been happening between them recently.

To distract Cas, and mostly to get him to stop staring at Dean's bared thighs, Dean seizes the moment to pounce and grab hold of the covers again, kneeling on the bed this time either side of Cas's shins because he's not fucking around now; Cas is getting up this time and he's going to win this tug of war.

Cas gives as good as he gets though, clutching the covers with a yelp, though he's smiling now, so maybe Dean's won after all, maybe Cas is awake enough. Nevertheless, they keep tugging, Cas making little grunts of effort as he does so, and Dean just laughs at the concentration on his face, twisting the duvet in his arms to make it harder.

Cas gives an stupendous pull then, yanking with all his might, and Dean is, at the time, caught off guard by the errant curl tickling against Cas's eyebrow. The covers slip free of his grasp and he surges forwards, losing balance as he's still perched on his knees on the squishy mattress. He tumbles down, bracing his hands either side of Cas's head with a yelp of fear, ending up looming over the former angel, their faces precariously close, their eyes equally wide.

Cas is still gripping the hem of the covers in fear, his doe-eyes like saucers as he stares up into Dean's, unblinking. Dean doesn't move, mainly because he's frozen to the spot, his arms trembling as they hold him up, his legs either side of Cas's.

This should be a lot weirder than it is.

Cas swallows, and Dean tracks the movement, not speaking, watching as his adam's apple bobs beneath the tanned, stubbled skin of his throat. If he leaned down just a few inches, he could press his lips against that spot. He can almost imagine the flutter of Cas's eyelashes if he did, how his friend's toes would curl and he would probably feel it, the covers clenching as his feet pushed against them.

His eyes flick back up to Cas's and he pushes the errant thought aside, swallowing himself. Cas's heat is seeping into him, even through the quilt, and it's intoxicating. Dean had forgotten this, the feeling of someone else being close to you, to lie beside them, on top of them, feeling their body's warmth.

Cas moves then, his eyes remaining fixed on Dean's as though he's wary of a sour reaction. He reaches between them, his hand brushing Dean's chest only slightly, as if in fear that he might leave if it gets too intimate. It's a bit late for that, Dean thinks, his eyes flicking to Cas's pale pink mouth of their own accord, so close to his it's almost stupid that he can't just taste it.

Cas pulls the covers from between them slowly, removing them inch by inch, and it seems to take years until they're completely out of the way, Dean needing to move his legs just slightly to compensate.

Cas smiles then, hesitant and sweet, a hint of tiredness still evident on his face given that it's around five in the morning and Dean made him stay up watching a vast quantity of the original Batman TV episodes last night. Cas fell asleep on his shoulder, betraying his own ethics about sleep being only acceptable at certain times, but Dean would never tell on him.

Dean tenses as he feels the covers being wrapped around him like a shawl, only because he's nervous, terrified in fact, and the sensation is unfamiliar for a moment. But he relaxes as soon as Cas has the covers draped over them both, and Dean finally understands. Then he feels a little like an idiot.

He raises an eyebrow at Cas, not needing to speak, and not wanting to because it will break the magic of this moment. But with this gesture, the wrapping of the duvet, Cas has essentially succeeded; he is still in bed, and now Dean is too.

Dean shakes his head very slightly, a fond gesture, and then he lowers his body down a little, breath hitching as he comes into contact with Cas. He's suddenly very glad he chose to wear a t-shirt last night, because skin on skin contact would probably push him over the edge right now. Their entangled legs are enough to drive him mildly crazy, the soft hairs littering Cas's shins brushing against him whenever either of them move.

Their chest press together, and Dean marvels as he takes in Cas's reaction, his mouth parting just slightly, his eyes widening further when he feels Dean getting closer. Dean has to admit, he understands why Cas didn't want to get out of bed, it's exceedingly nice wrapped in this blanket, warm and soft, with the added bonus of Cas beneath him.

Cas's hands reach up to rest gently on Dean's arms, trembling a little, and Dean wonders what it's like for him, considering this must all be so new. Who knows what he's feeling right now.

Cas licks his lips, and Dean watches closely, leaning in without meaning to, an unconscious reaction, and Cas lets out a little squeak when he sees how close Dean just came to kissing him. Dean chuckles softly, his breath a puff of air over Cas's face, and then he does kiss him, because he can't help it, not when his friend is so beautifully bewildered, so nervous and so sweet.

Cas's lips give way to his easily, the softness of the thin, pinkened skin surprising Dean somewhat; he's never felt lips this soft before, not on any girl he's ever kissed. Dean captures Cas's lower lip between his, pulling at it very slightly, and his own bottom lip drags across the rough stubble above Cas's chin, reminding Dean of who this is, what they're doing, and making butterflies burst into life in his stomach.

Cas grips his upper arms tightly, tilting his head up to kiss Dean back, though he doesn't know how exactly. He copies Dean, moving his lips against him, letting Dean's tongue sweep lines across the closed seam of his mouth, and then, briefly, meeting it with his own when he parts his lips. Dean tastes of something earthen, natural and pure, something that reminds Cas of feeling attuned to the world around him, and he can't get enough, he lets Dean kiss him, there against the pillow in this bed in the back of an underground bunker for what seems like years.

He wouldn't have minded if it was.

Dean pulls away eventually, breathing deep and slow, staring down at Cas like he's the eighth wonder of the world. Cas's mouth is damp and reddened, open in surprise and a kind of awe. Dean's eyes crinkle softly, and he rolls off of Cas at length, onto his back so that they're side by side, staring upwards at nothing.

Dean opens his mouth to say something a few times, but he can't get the words out, so it would seem. Cas rolls onto his side to stare at his profile, biting his lip a little anxiously. Maybe the kiss was no good? Perhaps it brought things to Dean's attention that he would rather were kept hidden?

Dean turns his face to meet Cas's gaze, giving him a fond smile and Cas sighs in mild relief, glad that at least things aren't irreparable. He remembers why Dean came to his room in the first place, and smiles.

"You see Dean, I think you'll agree that it's a lot better in this bed than-"

"Oh my god shut up." Dean replies, grinning, and kisses him again.

* * *

**A/N: Hi all, sorry I haven't been posting much recently, but there is a reason - I've kinda sorta moved myself over to AO3 ( ) and have been posting stuff there instead. This particular story is part of a series I'm doing set post-season 8, called It's The Little Things. I probably won't be posting much here anymore, so if you still want to subscribe to my stories, head on over to AO3 and follow me there, I promise there's lots of new stuff coming soon INCLUDING a follow up prequel story about the 'cursed valentine's card' mentioned in this fic. Thanks for all your lovely words as always, cuddles for each of you. xxx**


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